


As Sweet As Strawberry Wine

by overratedantihero



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Age Inappropriate, Alcohol, Bar, Dick Strikes Out With a Pretty Girl, Drunken Flirting, M/M, Sexual Tension, Small Towns, Spanking, There is no explicit homophobia, Way more light hearted than the tags appear, belt, but the threat is there, implied drunk sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:11:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Dick follows Slade on a job to play chaperone, but he gets a little too tipsy for his own good. Luckily, Slade's there to remind him how to act.





	As Sweet As Strawberry Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I'm from Mississippi, I get to make stereotypical jokes and accents, I've earned it.

“Settle down, kid,” Slade hissed, discordantly sharp against the rich saxophone riff drifting out from inside the club. Dick shifted, shoving his hands in his pockets. The humidity was stifling, and his hair was sticky and curling against his cheeks and the nape of his neck. He felt too casual, in his dark washed jeans and black button up, next to Slade, in a gray three-piece suite with a burnt orange tie. Although Slade had forgone the jacket in the car, and before they’d even reached the bar, he’d rolled his sleeves up. Dick took some satisfaction in the fact that not even Slade Wilson was impervious to stifling summer heat.

Before Dick could stop fidgeting, they’d reached the bouncer. He was a bored, portly man with a heavy white beard, sleeveless black tank top, and black sunglasses (even though it was well past sundown) that sat small on his broad face. The bouncer looked Dick up and down before spitting tobacco-browned spit into the grass.

“Gonna need to see some ID on that one,” he grunted, nodding at Dick. Dick fumbled for a moment but managed to procure his wallet, which he thrusted at the bouncer. The bouncer raised his eyebrows, but took it, unfolding it and pulling away his sunglasses to take a glance at Dick’s ID. He lifted his head and squinted at Dick’s face, before glancing back at the ID.

“You ever break your nose, son?” The bouncer finally said, handing the wallet over. Dick pocketed it and flushed, although he imagined he was already pink from waiting outside in the southern heat. 

“Yeah—Yes, sir. I’ve got younger siblings, took a baseball bat to the nose while trying to teach one how to play.” Dick flashed a grin that he hoped read as charming. The bouncer spit another wad into the grass and gestured them through.

“C’mon, we don’t got all night. Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen,” the bouncer said, already replacing his sunglasses and grinning widely at the next person in line. “Charlie! How’s the old lady?”

Dick clung close to Slade as they stepped inside, and he coughed despite himself when the damp, hot night melted into the cool, tobacco smoke filled bar. The blues music was melodic outside, but inside, it thrummed in Dick’s bones. The band on stage was sparse, but they leaned into their microphones and their eyes were shut tight in their intensity. People milled about, some dressed as nice as Slade, others in cut-off shorts and boots.

A pretty blonde by the pool table gave Dick a lingering glance, until she caught Slade’s eye and quickly looked away.

“Slade, we don’t look like we belong,” Dick hissed above the crooning lead singer. Slade snorted.

“Of course, we don’t,” he murmured, sparing Dick a downward glance. “You’re too tense, you’re acting uppity. This isn’t Gotham kid, it’s the Mississippi Delta. Settle, relax, or you’re going to burn us before I can get started.”

Dick scowled. When he followed Slade from Gotham, it was to keep Slade from killing anybody on contract. It was not to play arm candy in a blues bar somewhere in Nowhere, Mississippi while Slade cuddled up with some local politician. What business Slade had with a politician in the Deep South was beyond Dick.

“Why don’t you go get us a couple of drinks?” Slade asked, nudging Dick towards the bar and slipping him some cash. “Whiskey for me, bourbon if they’ve got it. Order whatever you like.”

“I don’t drink, Slade,” Dick hissed, brows furrowed. Slade smirked.

“Maybe you should start. Try a shot, kid, it’ll soothe your nerves.”

Slade strode away, calling out a greeting to a group of men off in the corner. Dick huffed but went to the bar and ordered Slade a glass of bourbon and himself a hurricane. It was the sweetest thing on the menu, and looked to have enough juice to smother the burn of alcohol. 

“Y’know, they make them real good here,” the blonde from earlier said, as she slid onto the bar stool nearest Dick. “Tastes like what they’ve got down in Nola and everything. You ever been to Nola?” She bat big, brown eyes at him, and he stuttered.

“Nola?” he asked, painfully aware of his own accent. She smirked.

“’S what I thought. New Orleans. The Big Easy. Though, honest, I hear Louisiana’s just like that. It’s that European influence, y’know. Napoleonic law or whatever. I’ve just been to Nola and Ponchatoula, but I wouldn’t doubt it.”

The bartender placed the drinks in front of Dick, and Dick paid him, took a long sip from his drink and then turned back to the woman.

“I haven’t heard that. About Louisiana. You should tell me more, just to be sure,” he flashed a grin and she giggled. Dick could feel some of his confidence seeping back, and he loosened his shoulders.

The woman launched into stories about New Orleans and that time she went on the ferry, and then this other time when she and her friends were out by the river and they got stuck in the mud and had to rinse off in a car wash, and all the while Dick sipped at his drink. It was sweet and tropical, and he was swaying with the music and this sudden, pleasant company.

“Has anyone ever told you your accent sounds like melted sugar?” Dick asked, interrupting a story about some strawberry festival. He was on his second drink, he never did bring Slade his whiskey. And he could feel Slade’s gaze too, prickling the back of his neck. But the blond let out the sweetest peal of laughter, and Dick forgot, if just for a moment, that Slade had drug him into some sort of backwoods bar.

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” the blonde cooed. “But, sorry, sugar. I’ve been there before, I ain’t doing it again.”

Dick cocked his head. He wasn’t used to this, not when he felt _this_ delightful. “I—do what again?” he asked, tongue thick in his mouth. He sucked at his straw and pulled at nothing but melting ice.

The blonde glanced down, her cheeks flushing. “Well, y’know. I—I know we’ve got a reputation down here, but we really ain’t all like that. I certainly don’t judge, that’s between you and God.” She glanced up, forehead smoothing and mouth turning down, “But, darling, I’m not gonna be your prop while you’ve got that big fella over there.”

Dick glanced back, met Slade’s gaze. Slade looked irritated. The thought sent a thrill up Dick spine, between Dick’s legs. Or maybe that was the alcohol. He vaguely gestured to the bartender, who rolled his eyes and began mixing Dick another.

“Him? He and I… we’re just business partners. That’s all.” Dick glanced down at the rocks glass, waiting patiently by Dick’s elbow. Dick picked it up and took a sip before making a face. The blonde smirked, planted her elbow on the bar, and propped her chin on her hand.

“You don’t say?” she cooed. Dick coughed once before gratefully accepting the new drink from the bartender, which he sucked down to chase away the taste of the bourbon.

“Yeah,” Dick murmured hoarsely. “I say. Although honestly, I don’t even think he sees me as an equal, you know? It’s so messed up, it’s just like Br- like my dad. My dad pulled that too. Said we were partners in… in the family business. But never treated me like it, y’know? God, this is good.” Dick lapsed into silence for a moment to enjoy the sensation of cold liquid trickling down his throat. It was such a nice contrast to how warm he felt everywhere else. The blonde was smiling sweetly at him.

“Well, you know what they say. We pick our partners to be like our daddies.”

Dick choked on his drink and she hopped off the stool to pat at his back until he could breathe again.

“God, you’re pretty,” Dick wheezed. She chuckled again.

“You’ve got to stop taking the Lord’s name in vain like that, sweetie. I’m not gonna get struck by lightning because of the likes of you.”

Dick opened his mouth to ask what the hell she was talking about, but then she flinched back at the same time Dick felt a broad, warm hand against his back. Dick inhaled, smelled pepper and wood, and he grinned lopsidedly.

“You forget something, little bird?” Slade rumbled, his vowels just a little drawn. Side effect from long conversations, Dick supposed. He could hear his own reflect the drawl of the blonde’s, even if it was just a smidgen.

“Slow, like molasses,” Dick said to himself. The blonde cast a worried glance down at him, but Slade just huffed and reached for the abandoned bourbon. He downed it and then gestured to the bartender, who obligingly refilled the glass.

“C’mon, kid. You need to come sit with me. Bring your drink.”

Dick saluted the blonde. “Pleasant meetin’ your acquaintance,” he murmured, with only a slight slur. She gave him a little wave, still looking a touch perturbed as she glanced from Slade back to Dick.

“Take care of yourself, darlin’,” she said as Dick and Slade walked away, Dick leaning against Slade. “Rum leaves a mean hangover.”

“Holy shit,” Dick whispered against Slade’s arm.

“Hm?” Slade grunted, without sparing Dick a glance.

“That’ s’why it’s so sweet. Rum! Sugar. Cane sugar. It’s sugar alcohol. That’s why it’s so good. Brilliant,” Dick babbled happily, while Slade guided him to a secluded corner. His previous companions, the politician and his ilk, were nowhere to be found. Dick and Slade settled down into a worn but plush booth, and Dick tilted his head back and closed his eyes to better feel the vibrations of the guitar.

Slade’s breath hitched from next to him. Dick blinked, glanced towards Slade without moving his head.

“What?” Dick asked, voice roughened by the bend of his throat. Slade shook his head.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Slade hummed. “No one ever taught you how to behave. You’re the reason why belts exist.”

Dick flushed scarlet, warmth layering on warmth as the blush crept up his shoulders, down the back of his neck, across his cheeks. He straightened up, sipped at his drink, and fisted Slade’s slacks, over Slade’s thigh.

“Did you get what you came here for, Slade?” Dick asked, voice strained, glancing up at Slade through his lashes. Slade leisurely sipped from his glass.   

“I did.”

“Then why are we still here?” Dick hissed, slumping heavily against Slade. “Wanna go somewhere else. We can find a cornfield somewhere or somethin’.”

Slade hummed but didn’t spare Dick a glance. “The nearest field is a soybean field. Cornfield’s up a ways.”

Dick released Slade’s slacks to tug at Slade’s suit vest. “Slade, c’mon. Stop messing with me.”

“You’re so petulant, little bird,” Slade murmured, catching Dick’s chin in his hand. “You’re making a scene. You should know better than to crawl on me like that where we are. It’s scary outside of the big city, little one.”

Dick swallowed hard. He tried to articulate that he had no doubt that between Slade and himself they could survive any attempt at a hate crime, but instead what came out was, “Maybe I need the belt then.”

There was a pregnant pause before Slade downed the rest of his drink, placed the empty glass on the table, and stood. “Come on, kid. You’ve had one too many, let’s get you home.”

Dick grumbled something unintelligible, finished off his drink, and placed the glass on the table next to Slade’s. He stood and swooned for a moment, before regaining his posture and stumbling after Slade as Slade power walked from the premises. The bouncer outside gave them a funny look but otherwise Dick felt comfortable in calling their exit graceful, natural, and clean.

But then Slade half drug Dick past the car and into the nearest field. He shoved Dick to the ground before folding on top of him, trapping Dick’s wrists against the ground above his head and biting and sucking at Dick’s arched neck while Dick giggled tipsily.

When they finished, Slade closed his eye and laid out, his naked back pressed against the rough ground. His belt lay discarded beside him. On Slade's other side, Dick lounged on his stomach, to protect his cherry-red, welt-licked ass, with nothing between the dirt and his skin but his spread button-up.

Unprompted, Dick burst into fresh giggles.

“What?” Slade asked, without opening his eye.

“You were right,” Dick snorted. “It’s a soybean field.”

**Author's Note:**

> It didn't fit anywhere into the actual story, but Slade's in town for a pro-bono job. Local mayor's an old military buddy and Slade's definitely gonna murder some good ol' folks while Dick squawks angrily in the background.


End file.
